The Pot
by TraBuch
Summary: Harry "The Pot" Potter confronts Quirrell and challenges him to a wrestling match. The prize? The Philosopher's Stone.
**Disclaimer: No, I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with any wrestling organizations. I saw someone mention an idea like this on GAF, so I said, "Huh. That sounds funny." and decided to write something. I apologize. Wrestling is terrible.**

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After getting past the final obstacle, Harry sauntered through a pair of curtains into what had to be the final room. Upon entering, Harry was standing at the top of a long ramp leading down to what looked to be a regulation-sized wrestling ring surrounded by thousands of empty seats. He immediately knew where he was. He'd been here many times with his adopted dad. He was in Madison Square Garden, or at least a perfect replica, home of the very first Wrestlemania. After a quick look around the room, he spotted Quirrell, who seemed to be talking to himself outside of the far side of the ring. After a quick Sonorus charm, Harry called out, "Finally, The Pot has come back to Madison Square Garden!"

Startled, Quirrell turned around. He smirked when he saw who it was and after a Sonorus of his own, replied, "It's too late, brother. I already have the Stone, dude," he pulled a small stone out from under his robes and held it above his head, "now whatcha gonna do when the Voldermaniacs and the Philosopher's Stone run wild on you, brother?"

"You think I'm afraid of you or that Stone? Is that what you think?"

"I thin-"

"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!"

Quirrell jumped back, in awe of Harry's audacity.

Harry continued while walking towards the ring, "You know what you can do with that Stone?" Pausing as he as he reached the ring, he slowly walked up the stairs and entered above the second rope then continued, "You can take that Stone, shine it up _real_ nice and stick it straight up your candy ass!" he finished with a flourish.

All Quirrell could do was stare, dumbstruck. How dare this jobber interrupt him. He was the Dark Lord's hand-picked host! He would teach the brat. "Look, brother, I don't appreciate that disrespect, dude. If you want this Stone, you'll have to beat me for it and no matter how many potions you take or how many times you pray, brother, that'll never happen. Take out your wand, I challenge you to a duel, dude."

Harry chuckled, "A duel? With wands? What are we, faeries? No no no no nooo, jabroni. If you want to fight The Pot, you fight like a real man. In the ring. With hands. Half-naked. Strudel to strudel. No disqualification or count-out."

"Wrestling? Are you challenging me to a wrestling match, brother?" Quirrell looked at him in disbelief, "You must not know who I am, dude. I've wrestled around the world. I won the first ever G1 Climax in Japan. I'm a five-time AAA champion, dude. I made the WWF, I conquered WCW and I destroyed TNA, brother. I am the greatest wrestler to _ever_ live."

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, Quirrell. Very accomplished. Won a lot of matches. Won many championships. Impressive. But you weren't raised by The Great One. You weren't raised by The Brahma Bull. You weren't raised by _the_ most electrifying man in sports entertainment!"

Quirrell paled, "What? You were raised by The Rock?! That's impossible, brother! I BURIED HIM!"

"Not deep enough, jabroni. Now are you just gonna stand there blabbering, or are you gonna get in the ring so The Pot can lay the smack down on your candy ass? If you smellllalalalala, what The Pot," Harry paused, took off his sunglasses and cocked his right eyebrow, "is smoking."

Quirrell couldn't believe it. He fought The Rock in '99. He was sure he buried him. Fifteen leg drops in a row. The Rock never wrestled in the main event again. He became a mid-card jobber. There was no way he could survive that. But looking into the ring now, he knew the boy was telling the truth. Quirrell had no idea how it took him this long to realize. The sunglasses he wore everywhere he went, the gaudy, unbuttoned shirts and slacks he always wore instead of robes, the bull tattoo on his right bicep, the childish insults, the mannerisms, he'd even witnessed the brat refer to himself as "the jabroni-beating, pie-eating, trailblazing, eyebrow-raising, electrifying, 'know your role and shut your mouth' people's champ The Pot" and then proceed to Rock Bottom the Malfoy boy a month ago. __How could I not have known?__ Quirrell wondered. _All the signs were there. But no matter. If I could beat his dad, surely I'll have no problem with an eleven-year-old boy. I guess I'll have to teach chump another lesson by burying his adopted son._

"Alright, brother, you're on. We'll make this a ladder match, dude." With a flick of Quirrell's wand, four ladders appeared outside of the ring while the Stone floated twenty feet above the center of the squared circle. Quirrell turned to look at Harry, "The Rock will wish he stayed buried after I'm done with you, brother."

Harry, standing in the middle of the ring with his shirt and pants long gone, wearing only black wrestling trunks and a pair of black boots, brought his right hand up and motioned Quirrell closer.

"Just bring it."


End file.
